As a freshman, I never thought I’d outgrow Swiller Night at T.J. Quill’s — at least not until I was married and carrying my first child. Was I ever that young?

Four years later, I’m not only feeling older, I’m feeling old.

Now, if I’m out of bed at 5 a.m., it’s because I’ve been startled out of sleep by the psychotic pigeons outside my bedroom instead of just getting home from a particularly happy happy hour.

When did this happen and how did it happen so soon?

Last semester, I was still a junior and, apparently, in the spring of my youth.

I used to go out five nights a week. Sure, for about two of those five nights I was probably at Baskin-Robbins or Starbucks, but the point is that I was out.

And I could stay out until four in the morning if I wanted to. I didn’t make a habit of it, but I knew that option was always there for me, like an old friend.

Now, merely months later, I’m a senior and I’m lucky if I make it through the entire hour of The West Wing at 10 p.m.

I always thought gray hair was the first sign of aging, but really, it’s dozing off in front of the television.

Maybe my problem is that I’m watching hours of Bravo at a time, instead of interacting with the outside world.

But who has the strength?

In my defense, this semester has been one of my busiest and most difficult ones for me so far.

Frankly, I’m spent.

It’s possible that three years of only getting about five hours of sleep a night is finally catching up with me.

My body wants to collect and it no longer seems rational to me to try to make up for three hours of lost sleep with three cups of black coffee.

Perhaps it’s time I switched to tea anyway, because I don’t think my joints should be cracking when I bend them quite yet.

Something has to give, but I just really don’t want it to be my social life.

I spent four long years of high school perfecting how to cram for a final in five hours and how to write a paper in three.

But now all my hard work is slowly undoing itself: I no longer have the energy to wake up (or, as the case may be, leave the bar) mere hours before my morning exam only to open the textbook for the first time. What a waste.

Given time, I can accept getting older, just so long as I’m getting wiser, too.

But something about the way I locked myself out of my apartment a few nights ago tells me that the two are not necessarily one and the same.